


Until Our Hearts Are Sore

by nerakrose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff, Happy, M/M, Photographs, Sappy, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 11:26:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose/pseuds/nerakrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Phil and Clint are both incredible saps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until Our Hearts Are Sore

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to inside_the_veil and mrs_jack_turner for the beta. :)
> 
> The photos mentioned in the fic are old pics of Clark Gregg. [One](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_maiglyRgFC1qi9ctk.jpg). [Two](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_maignvj3sJ1qi9ctk.jpg). Also, Jeremy Renner [can](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVV8cSMh35U) [sing](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wso3tHSS754).

If there was one thing, just one thing, about Clint Barton that Phil completely and utterly loved, one thing that always left him quiet and contemplative and bursting with love - then that one thing was Clint's voice. It was an ordinary voice, perhaps slightly gruff, but very ordinary and unassuming. When he spoke he didn't set himself apart in any way, if one did not take into account the sarcasm and sass.

No, but Clint could _sing_. He didn't do it often, yet he'd done it often enough to have gained something of a reputation in SHIELD, courtesy of the annual holiday staff party and the few impromptu let's break out the booze and the karaoke kit to celebrate the not!end of the world get-togethers.

Those parties were really too many, considering.

Anyway, Clint could sing. And he did so readily - if readily could be called two beers and peer pressure (the thing was really just elaborate foreplay; Clint singing was a _tradition_ ) - and never failed to deliver. His voice had a soft timbre to it that lent itself to both anthems and melancholic songs as well as any current-radio-hit.

That had been the unspoken the rule in the beginning. Only one song. It had been a different song every time, although he had been persuaded to repeat New York State Of Mind a few times. After 9/11 he sang that song every time. Billy Joel performed the song at the public ceremony, but Clint sang it at SHIELD's own private ceremony in HQ. Not a single eye had been dry, then, and Phil remembered Maria sobbing quietly next to him. He hadn't known her partner very well, but even he had shed a tear for her.

So it was tradition; New York State Of Mind became the regular song at the the-world-didn't-end-again parties and Clint made everyone cry, and then half an hour later he'd get back up and sing something else. He was usually cheered on until he retreated to Phil's side and his beer and refused to sing any more songs. It was how it went. Get the crying over with and the partying on with. That was how it'd been for more than a decade by now.

There were various recordings of Clint singing New York State Of Mind and most of them had made it onto youtube. There were other songs there too, and Phil had them all collected into his favourites playlist on iTunes that he thought no one knew about. Natasha knew about it and Clint knew about it. Fury probably did too.

Phil's very favourite songs, however, were the songs Clint sang at home. He didn't do it often, but every now and then his baritone would drift out from the kitchen where he was either cooking or doing the dishes. Usually low-key songs, the sort that were easy on the ears and the mind. He never sang in the shower, funnily enough.

"You know there's a better recording of that one on youtube, right?" Clint said one day. Phil opened his eyes and saw that Clint was leaning over him from behind, arms resting on the back of the reclining chair. "I sang it last month at HQ."

"I know," Phil answered. "But this recording is mine." He smiled. "Do you recognise it?"

They listened to it together, the crackle over Clint's voice, which revealed that the tech used for the recording hadn't been quite state-of-the-art. There were other sounds too, the soft shuffle of feet on carpet, rustle of clothes, a door closing - or was it opening? There was the sound of someone speaking softly - Phil - and Clint trailing off, his voice going higher for a slight comical effect.

Phil remembered it very well. Clint had been amused at discovering Phil was listening in on him, but hadn't stopped singing. Rather, he'd taken Phil's hands and swung him around once and then pressed a soft kiss to his lip. It was barely audible on the recording, but Phil knew it was there, so he heard it.

"That must be old," Clint eventually said.

"About seven years, I'd say," Phil answered.

"Moscow," Clint mused.

"Mmmh."

"You know, Steve can sing too," Clint said, changing the topic. "He's got a nice set of pipes on him."

"Is that so?" Phil raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.

"There's a vid on youtube."

"I see."

"I taught him the song," Clint continued, eyes twinkling.

"Is it a lewd song?" Phil asked. "You didn't upset him, did you?"

"Oh, Cap's sensibilities are just fine." Clint leaned down and kissed him on the mouth, upside down. "I'm more worried about your heart."

"My heart?"

"We sang it together. Tony filmed it. Well, JARVIS did, via DUM-E." The corner of Clint's mouth curled up in amusement. "I don't want your old man heart to overexert itself when you see the footage. Because. You know. Your two favourite things in one video."

"Three," Phil corrected.

"Oh?"

"You count for two."

"My voice gets to be a thing of its own?" Clint asked, eyes shining with mirth.

"No." Phil spoke softly, finding one of Clint's hands and squeezing it. "Your heart does."

Clint's face closed, but Phil held on to his hand. "Phil," he said uncertainly.

"I know. But it's the truth." He brought Clint's hand up to his mouth, touching his lips to Clint's knuckles. Clint walked round the chair until he stood in front of Phil, looking at him. He looked young and lost and scared.

Phil could do nothing but love him.

"All these years," he said and stood up, slowly, releasing Clint's hand only to twine their fingers together. "And so many more years."

"Yeah," Clint croaked. "Yeah." He drew in a deep breath. "Do you know when I knew I was completely gone for you?"

Phil shook his head, curious and somewhat amused. Mostly curious.

"It was a week after I brought Tasha in." He paused. "She went digging. For information, mostly, on everyone, blackmail material, all sorts of things." He smiled wryly. "She didn't know if she could trust us, I suppose. Or she was curious. Or she wanted to see that we were all just human...She found something on you."

"On me?" He was surprised, trying to think what she could've possibly found on him. It was highly unlikely she'd found any _dirt_ , but he'd sure done a few colourful things for SHIELD...

Clint laughed. "No need for the frown," he said. "It was just a couple of old photos. Even older now, I suppose." He grinned and fished his wallet out of his backpocket with his free hand. He flipped it open and deftly pushed out two old photos, somewhat worn and yellowed around the edges.

Phil stared.

"Tasha didn't say where she'd found them," Clint said as Phil took one of the photos and held it close to study it.

"Fury," Phil replied, tilting the photo slightly, letting the light catch differently. "He took the photo. Do you know what this is?"

"Baby Phil with a delicious tan? Being adorable?" Clint answered. "Also, giant fucking cake."

"It was my welcome to SHIELD congratulations for being still alive party," Phil said. "I'd been there for a year and just got clearance 2." Phil smiled. "It's... about twenty years ago, give or take -"

"Give or take?"

"Twenty-three," Phil amended. "And you've had this photo since...Tasha showed it to you?"

"Yup. And the other one. I don't know what you're looking at in that one and you're not allowed to tell me because I'm a jealous person, but that's a Phil Coulson in love look if I ever saw one. And...well..." Clint shrugged. "I kept it."

"Why?"

"Missions." Clint carefully took the photos back and put them back into his wallet. "For the long ones."

Phil didn't say anything to that. He looked at Clint's face, took in his features, soft and slightly embarrassed. "Hey," he said, in a low voice. "I'm glad you have the photos."

"I'll..." He cleared his throat. "I'll go and make dinner. Fancy solyanka? Tasha taught me how to make it just last week. She lost a bet."

"...Yeah. I'd like that."

Clint squeezed his hand and then went into the kitchen. Shortly after the sounds of cupboard doors and drawers being opened and closed could be heard, and not long after, the soft tones of one of Clint's favourite cooking songs sounded through the doorway. Phil discreetly placed himself in the doorway to watch.

"Hey, I should show you that vid on youtube," Clint suddenly said, stopping in the middle of his singing. "Steve and I are great. Actually Steve is absolutely _hilarious_. He's great, but man, he's funny. Tony was laughing so much he had to hang on to DUM-E and the picture is all shaky."

"Which song is it?"

"Don't Stop Believin'," Clint answered. "We made a choreographed _dance_ for it and all."


End file.
